


Head Over Heels

by SHARKMARTINI



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Did anyone else get the vibe that Pat is into feet?, During Pelion, Express line straight to hell, Foot Fetish, Foot Massage, I know no one asked for this and I'm sorry, I'm just basically trash, M/M, One Shot, PWP, foot job, he talks about them A LOT, patrochilles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/pseuds/SHARKMARTINI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He swallows again, follows the line of his arch with his eyes until he reaches the edge of his heel, already shiny and fragrant from the oils. He closes his eyes, smells sandalwood and pomegranate, and tries to push down the almost overwhelming feeling of shame. It's only Achilles, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Heels

**Author's Note:**

> So, did anyone else notice that Patroclus talks about Achilles' feet A LOT? If no, please disregard this.

"What exactly is it about them that you like?" 

Patroclus feels himself swallow, long and dry while he tears his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Achilles is sitting on the bed watching him curiously, his hands working his oils into the delicate arch of his foot. He watches, transfixed by the golden hands moving effortlessly over the skin as he considers the question. Patroclus almost doesn't answer, but this is Achilles, and there is nothing forbidden between them, nothing secret.

"I- I couldn't tell you, other than to guess that they are simply another part of you to admire". He swallows again, follows the line of his arch with his eyes until he reaches the edge of his heel, already shiny and fragrant from the oils. He closes his eyes, smells sandalwood and pomegranate, and tries to push down the almost overwhelming feeling of shame. It's only Achilles, after all.

When he opens them again Achilles is staring at him, hands still working the delicate muscles in his foot as he watches for his reaction. Patroclus watches greedily, watches the contrast between the fine bones of his hands working over the strong planes of his foot, at once similar yet very different. He feels the steady pace of his heart increase when Achilles moves his hands over the orderly line of his toes and starts working the oil into them with steady, even strokes.

"Patroclus". He lifts his eyes to Achilles' and holds his breath. There is no mocking in them. He is not surprised, but finds himself grateful anyway. In all their years together Achilles' has never once made Patroclus feel like he is any less, and although they have added this new dimension to their relationship over the past couple of weeks, he knows that nothing of importance has changed in this regard. Just as Achilles' has never shamed him for his narrower chest, slower legs, or clumsier arms, so this too will be free of any mockery- there is no room between them for anything of the sort anyway.

Achilles releases his foot, which drops soundlessly to the floor of the cave. Patroclus can't help but watch as the dim light reflects off the soft skin pulled tight over his ankles, the irresistible sheen almost overwhelming in the growing dark. He feels the surge of a great want, deep in his chest and finds himself unmoored in his desire.

"Patroclus." Softer this time, he raises his eyes to Achilles' once more. He is smiling now, a soft curve of his lips as he watches the effect he has on his lover. He holds out the stoppered bottle of oil between his fingers, beckoning Patroclus towards the bed. 

Patroclus feels himself moving slowly, as if through a dream and drops heavily to his knees at the edge of the bed. Achilles lifts his unoiled foot and drops it lightly into his lap- an offering. Without thought Patroclus reaches into his lap and runs the pads of his thumbs along the arch, pressing into the thick muscle. He can feel the weight of Achilles' eyes on him as he changes his grip, moving one hand to the thin taut skin of his ankle, the other brushing the ridge at the base of his toes. He feels the beat of his own blood pounding in him, and before he can stop himself, he lifts the foot and bends his neck, rubbing the edge of his cheek along the warm, smooth skin he holds between his hands.

Distantly, he hears a small choked off sound of surprise from Achilles, and though it draws a deep flush he can feel working its way up his neck and chest- it gives him the courage to bend his face again, drawing his tongue along the soft skin of his ankle, tracing the bones he finds there. He places one final press of lips to the edge of the bone at his ankle, and pulls his face away with a feeling like reluctance deep in his chest. 

His eyes catch on the small bottle of oil, and he picks it up slowly, feeling it slide in his hand. He meets Achilles' gaze and finds him staring, pupils blown, and eyes heavily lidded. Patroclus feels himself flush again, and breaks their gaze, lowering his eyes back to the foot in his lap; he tugs clumsily at the stopper in the bottle, hands sliding a bit on the glass before finally popping it free.

The scent hits him all at once, and he sends a desperate thanks to the gods that he is already kneeled on the floor so that he does not have to feel the weakness in his legs at the thought of what he is doing, has already done. The oil is slick between his fingers, slowly dripping down his palms and onto his wrists as he raises the foot from his lap. He starts working the oil into the fine arch, thumbs kneading and pressing as he watches the sheen of the oil move from his dark hands to the sweetly pinkening skin of Achilles' foot.

He alternates smooth, soft caresses of his palms with fervent kneading of his fingers, sliding the golden skin between his hands. He doesn't dare look at Achilles' face, instead focusing his attention on the warmth of his skin, the raw beauty of it. Too soon the foot in his lap is shiny and fragrant from the oil, and Patroclus can no longer pretend to attend to it. He releases the foot, feeling a pang of sorrow at the moment of parting and stares at the edge of the bed vaguely.

Instead of removing his foot from his lap, Patroclus feels Achilles stretch further, pushing his foot closer into the warmth between his legs. Patroclus feels himself let out a breath, and pitches forward, bracing himself against the edge of the bed with one of his hands. Without thought, the other wraps itself around Achilles' ankle, sliding against the slippery skin. 

"Is this-?" He doesn't bother letting Achilles finish the thought.

"Yes" He hisses, uncharacteristically brusque as he feels Achilles press the arch of his foot against him tentatively. He tightens his grip on his ankle, digging his fingers into the smooth resistance of skin and muscle and closes his eyes against the onslaught of sensation. He lifts his hips slightly and feels himself shudder at the change in friction. He feels everything, the warm press of Achilles' foot through the thin cotton of his tunic, the slide of skin under his hand, the unyielding edge of the bed caught between his fingers, the first drops of sweat sliding down the side of his neck. There isn't enough air in the cave to fill his lungs, there isn't enough blood in him to keep up with the quickened pounding of his heart.

He makes a small noise of yearning and frustration as he feels Achilles press again- harder, toes dragging along the length of him. He opens his eyes and pushes up harder, shamelessly chasing the feeling again and again. He is caught between wanting more, and feeling that it is already too much. He feels sharp, too big for his skin, as though his edges might burst through at any moment. Soon, it is too much and he feels himself tumbling, caught in the pounding of the blood through his body, the rush of air into his quickened lungs as he cries out.

"Achilles-!" 

He feels every muscle in his body give, his heavy head pitching forward as he leans to the edge of the bed for support. He feels Achilles pull his foot out of his lap, and hears the rustle of the blankets as Achilles moves forwards towards him. 

"Patroclus", he feels himself lifted onto the bed, and lets himself sink into the heat of his lover's embrace. When he opens his eyes the look Achilles is giving him is so fervently loving that he cannot bring himself to feel shame at what they have just done together, what he himself has done. 

"Patroclus" Achilles murmurs again, pressing his face against Patroclus' own and running his hand down the length of his throat. "Patroclus" he breathes, finally pressing their mouths together and taking his hand, twining their fingers together and pulling them up to rest directly above his heart. They kiss slowly, lazily until Patroclus can feel them both smiling, and finally breaking away to laugh together quietly.

"Now that you have learned of my secret desires" Patroclus finds himself saying once he's caught his breath, reaching out and running his thumb along Achilles' bottom lip, shining and plump from kissing, "what are you willing to divulge of your own?"

He catches Achilles' eye and grins, transfixed, as a mottled blush slowly starts working it's way up his chest and onto his neck. Patroclus feels his smile widen as he reaches out, pulling his lover back into his embrace and tilting his face towards his own.

"Why don't you let me show you" Achilles whispers, pushing Patroclus down into the snarl of blankets and Patroclus laughs as they tumble together before closing his eyes and letting himself surrender.

**Author's Note:**

> Working titles:
> 
> 'Toeing the lines of love'  
> 'Toenight, let's bang'  
> 'No shirt, no shoes, service'  
> 'Take your socks off, bitch'


End file.
